by Anwen Stiles
“That feels so good,” he said. “And you should see my fingers in your ass. God. I see it and all I can think of is how my cock is going to look, pressed up against that tight hole of yours.”
She shuddered. How it is going to look, as if it would happen some time, not that it might. That it definitely would.
“You have the prettiest asshole I’ve ever seen,” he said. “And I’m going to stretch it wide. I can’t wait. Your ass spreading open for me, forcing my way into those tight depths. Fuck!”
His fingers pistoned in and out of her. She sucked his cock down and moaned at the sensations of him inside her, of his other actions over her sensitive bud of a clit.
“We’ll need an audience, of course,” he said, his voice gravel-like in quality. “How many men will be enough witnesses for you? You’ll love it then, that I’m fucking your virgin ass. You’ll love it if others are there to watch. Hell, I’ll love it, too.”
He was right. She would love it. She felt a fresh flood of dampness between her legs at his words. How many men? Watching him fuck her ass? Oh God.
He fucked. She sucked. And soon, they both came hard, both in the moment and somewhere else at the same time. Both imagining and yet appreciating this time and these actions for what they were. Yearning and satisfied all at once.
She shook her head and shifted in her chair, remembering where she was. Not in bed with Geoff. That was the past.
Right now, she was in a room full of women, all present and accounted for, all staring at her with quizzical looks on their faces. The Fantasy Guild.
Cynthia frowned. “You’re not telling us something. I know it. You were a million miles away.”
Several other women chimed in, agreeing with her.
Jasmine waved her hand at them. “I told you everything you need to know. That’s enough.”
“Ooh,” said Margie. “A mystery. What does it mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. Well, actually, it means that I gave my report, but that not everything is for public consumption. Some things, believe it or not, are private.”
“Damn, that sucks,” said Freya.
They laughed. Deep down, they understood that some things were private. In reality, most of them were in awe of how open Jasmine had been, how much she admitted.
“Okay, it’s getting late,” said Margie. “Let’s have a last word from our tester. What is your final analysis of your first and only gangbang?”
Jasmine smiled and considered the question for a moment. It was a tough one because of everything the experience had been, and because of what it might still prove to be. With Geoff.
“I think,” she began, “that it was one of the best things I’ve ever done. I feel lucky that it went the way it did, that the men were who they were. They never made me feel dirty, or at least, not dirty in a bad way.”
The ladies grinned.
“I felt desired more than I ever have,” she continued. “I didn’t once think about how I don’t like my thighs, or my stomach, or any of that sort of stuff. Who could think about not measuring up when it was so obvious that these men, all of them, found no fault with me? They seemed to think I was flawless. That alone was beyond price”
Her hair had fallen over her forehead and she brushed it away. “But what I’ll recall most is the way they said goodbye. They didn’t think worse of me because I fucked them all. They accepted me, as a sexual person. Like themselves. No judgment. No hang-ups from another age. They were happy and grateful, and they adored me. That’s my last memory of them, and what I’ll remember forever.”
The ladies watched her with soft expressions. A few small sighs sounded around the circle.
Jasmine was content that she had given an honest accounting of her night. She may have left out a few details, but the last part there, about what turned out to be most important to her, that was everything. The crucial point had been made.
She thought about what waited for her after the meeting.
Geoff was holding a table for them at a nearby restaurant. It would be their second date since the poker game. If it went anything like the first, then she would be having a delightful evening.
“So,” she said, clapping her hands together once in finality, “it’s time to bring this first meeting of the Fantasy Guild to a close. There’s only one question left to answer.”
She looked at each woman in the circle. They watched her with curiosity, awaiting the final question, the one that required an answer if there were to be a second meeting of the Fantasy Guild. The ladies leaned forward, expectantly.
And Jasmine asked the question.
“Who’s next?”
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Read on for a sample of
Pamela and the Hired Hands
Pamela and the Hired Hands
PAMELA LEANED BACK IN the lounger and adjusted the wide brim of her hat to keep the sun out of her eyes. It was a beautiful day, warm and cloudless, perfect for lazing around the pool. She couldn’t have asked for better weather. Perfect for a group encounter.
From behind her dark sunglasses, she eyed the pool boy as he dragged a net over the surface of the blue water, sifting out whatever didn’t belong there. He, too, was perfect. Young, though. Couldn’t have been much more than twenty-five, twenty-six years old.
His name was Sean. And his muscular, tanned torso was bare in the sun, his washboard stomach a temptation that made her fingertips itch to play over the hard ridges. He wore a pair of aged jeans, ripped in all the right places and hugging his tight rear end.
Behind her dark glasses, Pamela watched him with impunity, thoroughly enjoying her Mrs. Robinson moment. And anyway, Sean wasn’t actually a pool boy. She didn’t even own the pool he was cleaning.
Pamela had rented the house for the day from a real estate friend. The home had been empty and on the market for over a year, and her friend must have shown it a thousand times without a bite. Sitting on a secluded hillside, it was a beautiful home, a massive rambling place with a gorgeous lawn and a giant pool. But it was overpriced and the owners refused to lower the asking.
Pamela’s friend had welcomed the opportunity to make a few bucks on the side renting the place for the day, figuring she’d earned it with all the time she’d wasted trying to sell it.
Sean stopped skimming and turned to look at Pamela stretched out on her lounger in her skimpy, red bikini. He rapidly scanned her figure, his appreciation apparent, before returning his gaze to her face.
“Sure is a nice place you’ve got here, Mrs. Hunter,” he said. “Don’t know why you’d want to sell it.”
Her last name wasn’t Hunter. She’d chosen it because she liked how it sounded.
She waved her hand in the air. “It’s Mr. Hunter’s fault. He’s moving his business offshore, so we’re giving up the place.”
“Losing your home is a big sacrifice to make.”
“Well, I’m happy to do it. He’s my husband, after all.”
He nodded. “He’s a lucky man. I’ll do my best to clean the pool up real nice so you can sell the house quick.”
A voice sounded from nearby. “Me too. I’ve almost got these hedges trimmed up.”
She smiled benevolently, and glanced to the side at the young man working a pair of clippers over a shrub. Kyle. Mmm. He was as delicious as Sean, shirtless, too, of a similar age and fitness level, but he was a sun-kissed blond where Sean was brunette.
“Thank you both,” she said. “I appreciate all your hard work.”
Kyle winked at her, a sexy impertinence that a woman of Mrs. Hunter’s standing might never have tolerated, not unless she had plans for said sexy winker. And this Mrs. Hunter most assuredly did have plans.
The two men returned to work and Pamela enjoyed their show. She felt all warm and fuzzy, basking in the sun in her bikini, anticipation curling in her be
lly, a low thrum working deep inside her. She sipped her mojito. This was the life.
An older woman in a maid’s uniform stepped out of the house.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Hunter,” the woman said, stopping next to Pamela’s lounger. “There’s a worker here. Says you hired him to do some repairs around the place.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot about him. Thank you, Angela. Send him out and bring me that list I left on the kitchen table.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Angela said, and off she went to do Mrs. Hunter’s bidding.
Angela wasn’t her real name. Pamela couldn’t remember her real name, in fact. She was an actress hired to do a few hours’ work, who happened to be a little wooden in her delivery, but otherwise was doing okay.
The sound of Kyle’s clipping picked up speed. “If you needed some small jobs done, Mrs. Hunter, I’d have been happy to do them for you.”
“How kind of you,” Pamela said. “I had no idea you had skills in the house as well as in the yard.”
“Ma’am, you wouldn’t believe how handy I can be.” He looked her over, a quick, leering up and down.
Would a real Mrs. Hunter fire him on the spot for his cheek? Pamela didn’t know. Didn’t care. “Why Kyle, I certainly would believe it. You can accomplish anything you set your ... er ... mind to.”
He grinned and made a few pointed clips with the trimmer. “I bet I can hammer better than that fellow you’ve hired.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” said a deep voice from behind her.
Pamela turned, looked up, way up, into the eyes of Mr. Tall, Dark and Don’t-I-Look-Fine-in-a-Toolbelt Guy. “Oh, hello there.” Seriously. Hell-o.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hunter. I’m Miguel,” he said. “I’m here to do the work I discussed with your husband last week.”
She paused a moment to give him a good look over. A dream Latin lover if ever she’d seen one. He was in his early thirties, tall and lean-hipped. His black hair brushed his shoulders and curled at the ends. There were a few tiny smile lines at the corners of his sexy mouth, and she would have traded her soul for his high cheekbones and long eyelashes.
He was dressed in a t-shirt and tight jeans, and yes, a big, loaded tool belt that was slung low on his hips. No husband in his right mind would hire this man then allow him to be alone with his wife. Luckily, Mrs. Hunter’s husband wasn’t the jealous type.
Jasmine had told Pamela to expect someone new, someone who hadn’t been present on her night. Miguel. Delicioso. Jasmine would be crushed if she knew what she missed.
Pamela smiled and pretended she didn’t see Miguel’s lazy perusal of her person. “Of course, Miguel. So glad you made it. Where’s Angela? Oh, there you are.”
Angela was basically lost behind Miguel’s glory. She stepped forward and handed Pamela a sheet of paper, then returned to the house.
Pamela studied the list. “Hmm, okay. My husband wrote this up for you. It says here that you’re to start in the downstairs half bath. There’s a small hole in there you’re supposed to fill. Does that sound familiar to you?”
“Yes Ma’am,” he said, a small smile playing on his face. “I can assure you I’m an expert at filling small holes.”
“Had lots of practice have you?”
“Plenty.”
“Mmm, I bet you have.”
Sean snorted nearby. Pamela ignored him.
“Let’s see,” she continued. “Next up is in the dining room. There’s a loose hinge on the door. And a few of the handles are shaky on the built-in hutch. It says here you may need a drill. Did you bring one?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He patted his hip, where a large drill hung from his tool belt. “I never go anywhere without it. And all the attachments, too.”
“You’ll probably need a really long drill bit for this job.”
“Got it covered. Eight inches of hardened, high-speed steel.”
“Oh, well, that’s good to know.” She couldn’t resist a quick peek at what he was packing under his tool belt, hidden behind his tight jeans.
She licked her lips, unconsciously. “Yes, er ... extremely good to know.”
Off to the side, Kyle coughed loudly, trying unsuccessfully to hide his bark of laughter. Pamela shot him a hard look, one he likely didn’t get since it was hidden behind her sunglasses.
“Next job,” Pamela said a little too loudly, “is in one of the guest bathrooms. There’s a terrible problem in there. A stuck spigot.”
“Stuck spigot. That’s all right. It won’t be a problem.”
“I don’t know. A couple of men have already given it a go, and it doesn’t want to open up.”
“A few good whacks with something heavy should loosen it up,” Miguel said, his brown eyes sparkling.
“I fear it’s going to require a serious pounding before it’ll let go completely. A good, long, firm and steady pounding should do the trick, I think.”
“I can pound harder and longer than anyone.”
“Can you?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“My, my. You are talented. With your skills, I bet you do a bang-up business.”
Miguel cleared his throat. “My father taught me that any job worth doing is worth doing well.” His gaze traveled over her breasts and flat stomach, settling on the tiny triangle of fabric between her legs.
Sean clattered the metal skimmer against the grating on one of the traps. “Sorry about the noise, Mrs. Hunter. I was just trying to get something out of this trap. It’s clamped down on the skimmer and won’t let go.”
He clunked the skimmer around and around in the trap. “Whew! It’s all tight in there, and wet, too. I won’t give up, though. I’ll keep on plunging away until it gives it up.”
Pamela covered her mouth with her hand until she could resume a straight face. “Thank you, Sean. Your diligence will be rewarded some day, I’m sure.”
“Maybe today?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You never know,” she said, brushing him aside for the moment. “Now, Miguel, those three chores should be plenty to keep you busy for a while. When you’re finished, come back and we’ll go over the other items on the list.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He turned to go and Pamela admired his tight rear end as he went.
“And Miguel,” she called out after him. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. As you can see, I’m completely at leisure today, not doing a thing.”
“I see that, Mrs. Hunter,” he said, stopping at the door. “And if you don’t mind my saying, you look lovely when you’re not doing a thing.” Then he was gone, disappeared inside the dark interior of the house
She smiled, lay back in her lounger, threw an arm casually over the backrest, bent a leg. Sean and Kyle enjoyed her pose, watched her more than they pretended to do their jobs. She sipped at her drink and appreciated the play of the men’s muscles across their chests and stomachs, the flexing of their biceps, the glimmer in their eyes.
“You’re doing an excellent job with those hedges, Kyle,” Pamela said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Hunter. I enjoy a nicely-trimmed hedge.”
“Mmmhmm. Me too.”
“Have you ever trimmed your hedge? I mean, hedges? Trimmed your own hedges?”
She smiled lazily. “Yes indeed, but I have this habit of trimming too much. In fact, I’ve been known to take it down to nothing at all.”
“Bare, then.”
“That’s right.”
“Kind of tough on the hedge,” Kyle said.
“Yes, but then it grows back fuller and fluffier the next spring and —” she stopped, realizing she had clearly lost her way in Double-Entendre Land. She nearly gave full rein to a giggle, but swallowed it down.
Available now:
Pamela and the Hired Hands
Fantasy Guild No. 2
Anwen Stiles Bio/Contact Info
Anwen writes daring, sensual tales for adventurous spirits. She prefers heroines who actively pursue what the
y want, and heroes who want to fulfill their ladies’ dreams. No wilting, helpless virgins in these stories, unless the heroine is pretending to be one for kicks and grins.
She writes romance, paranormal/fantasy and erotica.
When Anwen’s not pounding away on her laptop, she enjoys hiking near her home with her favorite canine companion and hour-long gabfests at the local coffee shop with friends and family.
She lives in the USA.
She invites readers to email comments/questions to—[email protected]
Follow Anwen at Twitter at: @AnwenStiles
Sign up to her e-mail list at http://eepurl.com/BHn1n to receive announcements such as information regarding future releases.
For more information, visit Anwen’s website at www.anwenstiles.com
Also by Anwen Stiles
Fantasy Guild Box Set
Fantasy Guild Parts 1-3
Three scorching hot tales in one package! Join the women of the Ladies Naughty Book Club as they transform their secret fantasies into reality.
Jasmine and her fellow book clubbers grow disgruntled that characters in spicy novels live larger than they do. They want what their latest fictional heroine got — a seriously sizzling encounter with a gang of hot, lusty men. Deciding it’s time to make their own racy daydreams come true, they form the Fantasy Guild.
Jasmine volunteers to be the test case and sets out to find the perfect players who will bring her erotic, high-stakes poker game to life. It’s a tantalizing first for Jasmine, and five hard-bodied men guarantee it’ll be a night to remember.
She’s only the beginning. Up next, Pamela seeks an afternoon of poolside delight with some smokin’ younger hired hands. Lastly, Freya turns spy and is captured by five sexy interrogators who won’t rest until they’ve tortured every single piece of intel from Freya’s helpless person.
All the ladies agree—the Fantasy Guild is off to a dazzling start!
Warning—Explicit language and red-hot multiple partner sex scenes suitable only for adults. Includes oral sex, anal sex, and light bondage and spanking.
